Guess What I Can Do?
by Delusional Fishies
Summary: The Last Dovahkiin. The First Dovahkiin. The Only Dovahkodaav. And a Paarthurnax. These are their adventures as they... try to get wasted? And somehow unite the Empire, take over the world, or something like that along the way.
1. Chapter 1

Guess What I Can Do

"There's something about Skyrim's weather that just don't belong, sometimes. No, it's not the raining meteors or the harsh winters. Those types of atmospheres really made Skyrim what it was. When do anyone face down against an Ice Troll, if not knee-deep in snow with winds harsh enough to snap trees slapping against both cheeks? And it's obvious that raining fire is the only way to make fighting against a dragon… real.

… Isn't that right, Dovahkodaav?" I asked the two-meter tall grizzly bear sipping on a waylaid barrel of Blackbriar Mead on the boulder beside me. He might be sunbathing too, but you couldn't really tell at times in Skyrim. After all, it's a damned icy hell.

"Mmrrrrppgggn." Dovahkodaav, my companion-at-arms and more widely known as the 'Dovah Bear', was a man of few words. He raised a paw and shook it lazily before closing his eyes and rolling onto his belly.

"Yeah, I never really got that too," I replied. I'd like to think that I was an engaging conversationalist. Really, I try to talk to people before I start shouting at them. That's also a problem with this damnable province; people really like to resort to violence. Sometimes, I wish my beary hairy friend would speak more. Other times, I loved that he was such a good listener. "I'll be honest, my friend. I'm not one for fighting… I'd rather diplomacy people into doing what I want—"

Dovahkodaav burped loudly, and then scratched its back before making a sound that was half snorting and half snoring.

I sighed. "Alright, I'll allow it. You're probably right. It should be called manipulation, but that's such a… harsh word for it. Besides, we usually end up engaging in, ah, vigorous negotiation anyway. That's what's wrong with Skyrim… every Nine-Forsaken bandit and creature wants to fight. It's almost like they don't know what we do for a living."

My friend bearly gave my complaint a second thought. To be honest, it was a silly complaint. I loved the violence at times. It always followed with good loot, which is kind of necessary, considering I didn't really hold down an actual job. Oh, sure, I had 'titles' and such, but what do you think the vaulted 'Archmage of Winterhold' gets paid, with only three new enrolled students every half-decade? If you guessed 'nothing at all', you're right. Dovahkodaav nodded and flicked his wrist, causing an empty bottle to fly over my head so quickly, it took the tip of the top of my dragonbone helm straight off. Being the considerate friend, he apologized immediately by narrowly missing me with a following swipe and growling, "Mrrghnn."

"Hey, remember that one time, when I was riding you bearback and we ran into those other bears, and they were tussling with what's his name? Nahagive? Nanahiss? Something like that…" I reminisced. It was good times. "He just got out of the ground after Ol' Al raised him up, and you just slapped him with your bear paws. It was great!"

I hiccupped. This was…

My eight bottle? Tenth? Twentieth?

I had lost count some time ago. They say being a werewolf made you immune to poisons, or something like that about vampires. But apparently alcohol never counted as a poison for either one… that or Maeven finally nutted up and tried to off me.

"Blrrrp. Ggrawwhol," Dovahkodaav pointed out astutely, as he recounted the unbearably grizzly scene that we left Nahagliiv in afterwards. It was enough to convince Delphine that she might as well clue in all of us on her whole situation.

"Hey! What do you mean she was muttering about me being a psychopath? I'm not a… I… hic… I… Paarthurnax, tell 'im!" I rolled over on the great dragon's back and held back from puking my guts out.

He shrugged his giant slabs of shoulder scales and grumbled with a slowness of an elderly man who has taken too much skooma for one sitting, "Zu'u dreh ni mindok. I do not know, little brother. I was not present when you slew Nahagliiv, whose fury burned cities and withered entire forests."

"Really? He wasn't…" I felt some mead drip out of my nostrils as I attempted to hold back my drunken laughter. "He wasn't so hot."

"He was Yolos. He was the flames themselves, hotter than most of our brethren." Paarthurnax replied.

My lips parted, but I didn't utter a sound. It was depressing to chill with Paarthurnax. He was always so dignified; not once did he joke around. This was supposed to be our night to celebrate! Dovah gone wild!

Instead, it felt like someone poured Skyrim-temperature water down my back.

"Hey, you know, that old guy and Delphine, they wanted me to kill you. How dumb is that! Like I'd kill you, I mean, everyone really like you!" I complained again. I tended to do that a lot while drunk and aware enough that I was drunk, it seemed.

"That is… alarming. Tol tefsu." Paarthurnax replied. Don't be disappointed my big, scaly friend didn't impart any wisdom; he's drunk too. Killing Alduin means a lot more to Dragons that it means to humans, as it turns out, and it gave me enough leverage to convince the big lug to chug a few shots with me.

"What was that last bit? I don't think I know that from the walls," I blinked.

Paarthurnax made a sound that was like sighing, but a hundred times more likely to make me feel guilty. He always does that when I disappoint him or something. "That… sucks, as you say. For such transient creatures, those Blades are too stubborn and set in their ways."

"Not a couple months ago, they were willing to go along with anything I said," I agreed.

"What is your will on the matter?" He asked. There was even a tinge of something that sounded like worry.

I jumped off and shivered. Like I said, sometimes Skyrim was cloudless and sunny as the brightest southern isles, but the weather changed quickly in this icy hellhole. Then I blinked in surprise. "Wait, you're asking me?"

"You have defeated more than one of our brothers, and defeated the greatest of all Dov, with only borrowed knowledge and stolen souls. I cannot be victorious, facing you, as you are now, Zeymah." He eyed me carefully, hopefully. I saw the uncertainty in his eyes, past the haze of alcohol and a great feast.

"Eh. Fuck 'em. 'S not like I can't make my own blades or something," I grumbled. I thought we had something special, but if their stupid vows to a dead order that meant nothing without their Dragonborn was more important, then it wasn't that special after all. "I think I'm going to take a break from it all."

Paarthurnax cocked his head to one side. "Unos. Are you not… vacationing now?"

Holding up a hand as the bile almost rose up inside, I burped softly. "Ugh. No, I mean, from the war. Do you think if we got Tullius and Ulfric together, made them drink until they can't into sober, they'll make friends? That'd be swell…"

"Naram indeed. We will not know unless we try," Paarthurnax nodded.

"Alright! Dovahkodaav! It's time for adventure! Let's see if we can drink both of those stuck-up tarts under the table!" I leaped onto Paarthurnax's back.

"Ggrrmwwl," He pointed out keenly before jumping on after me.

As we sailed over the clouds, I couldn't help but laugh. "Haha! You're right about that. But where will we get all those cheese wheels?" And then we laughed together as we soared into the sunrise, leaving behind only Miraak, who was kind of a prick—he took my sweet roll!—and wasn't invited to any future parties.


	2. Chapter 2

Guess What I Can Do

"Let go!"

"**I cannot! If I do thus, I will fall!**"

"Then damn it, stop holding so tight, your stupid armor is digging into my skin!"

"… **If I loosen my grip, there's no telling when you'll push me off—**"

"Hey, now…"

"—**again**."

"You survived the first time, I don't see what your problem is. Dovah fly around all the time, and at least half of the ones I eviscerated do a sort of dive."

"**Yes, I've seen what you did to Sahrotaar when he dove. I believe I found his jaw on the other side of the Apocrypha.**"

"Er…"

"**The Apocrypha is **_**endless!**_"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry about Sahrotaar, man. He seemed like a swell dragon and all."

"**Then why is it that you tell **_**every person you meet**_** that I killed him? And that I ate his soul?**"

"It's for dramatic effect. You understand, don't you? If I said you were some honorable villain or something, it just doesn't have the same 'oomph' as the Alduin story."

"… **Fine. But it wouldn't have been so bad if that was the only thing you did. You killed all my minions!**"

"They were trying to kill me!"

"**And then you dressed up as one of them and started badmouthing me to every living soul in Solstheim! There's a children's rhyme about me releasing my bowels!**"

"Ha! You got to admit that is funny. I… uh, I was a bit drunk that time. I never had Ashfire Mead or Emberbrand Wine before! No one sells that stuff in Skyrim except on that tiny island… besides, friends prank friends."

"… **That is not a funny prank. That is not funny, nor is it a prank.**"

"Relax, I saved your life from Hermy, so we're even."

"**I swear to Akatosh, I will murder you in your sleep one day.**"

"Ah, yeah, love you too, mate. As if you'd do anything other than fight me man-to-man. By the way, what's with the voice? It's really annoying, especially since you're _right behind me_."

"**It's for dramatic effect. You understand, don't you?**"

So we picked up Miraak anyway. Look, it's not like he's that much of a jerk, I had twenty other sweet rolls in my pack, and Lydia was carrying another bag full of them anyway. I know, I know… it's the thought that counts.

Well, we picked Miraak up after he promised to pay me back for the sweet roll he ate.

Hey, it's a free sweet roll! And that's how I looked at it.

As it turned out, Paarthurnax's back wasn't exactly big enough for two fully armored men and one dire bear of enormous size. It didn't mean the old fellow couldn't carry us—he could do it because of some weird reality breaking shout he wouldn't share. Something about us never understanding because we don't have wings; what matters is we had to all fit onto his back.

So this is what happened: Dovahkodaav climbed on first, and Miraak and I climbed onto of Dovahkodaav.

They can take it.

Anyway, we were heading towards Windhelm first, because none of us wanted to deal with the second legion that just landed in Fortitude—something about the Emperor's this or that having a wedding. I never really could make heads or tails of those types of rumors since they never really reached most taverns in one piece.

That said, once the wedding started, it would be a good source of drink and food.

Anyway, somehow while flying to this abysmal den of winter called Windhelm, our conversation went off track. It started with us messing with each other, but it ended up being about Khajiits of all things. Cute, little buggers, but if you'd ever met one, you'd know that they bathed even less than the peasants.

"—I tell you, those Khajiits are sick fucks."

"Look, Miraak, even if I said I'd believe a word you're saying—and I don't, by the way—there's no way that Khajiits are exhibitionists. They don't have… they can't! They have too much fur, besides." I scratched the back of my head. We were cruising across the sky, just above the clouds at a tepid rate. Having the Skyrim wind lashing at your face isn't a pleasant experience, even for dragons.

It'd be another ten minutes before we reached Windhelm, sadly.

Miraak continued to speak, as if I hadn't uttered a word, "There's a type of Khajiit, they call them Alfiq in Elsweyr. But what you don't know is that they're actually everywhere in the world."

I shrugged. "Alright, I'll bite. I see Khajiit everywhere."

"Have you ever met an Alfiq?"

"Well, my last trip to that Else Where place was before all of… this Dragonborn stuff. But I always thought they were just one type of cat?" I frowned. Of course, I was just passing through, seeing as I had an appointment with destiny back then.

"This type of Khajiit has another name in the Empire," Miraak replied slowly, as if to drag it out and enjoy this. "I believe most know them as the common 'house cat'."

"You're shitting me." I actually tried to turn around, causing Dovahkodaav to blink awake early. "Oh, hey buddy, go back to napping. We got some time left. Miraak, you little shit, there's no way every house cat is actually an exhibitionist breed of Khajiit."

"Have you ever tried to talk to one?" Miraak asked lightly.

"… Uh. No? Why would I talk to a cat?" I blinked. "No. No way. You're serious?"

He threw his hands up in the air, "Look it up, boy. Look it up."

I sighed. "Well, this is more believable than Akatosh being a, what was it they said? 'A Really Big Cat'?"

"You don't find that scary?" Miraak sounded honestly amazed.

"What? You do?"

"Imagine for a moment a house cat. Not a Khajiit or one of those other breeds that never leave their homeland." He paused, waiting for the picture to build itself in my mind. This didn't take long, seeing as even the simplest magic required a heavy dose of imagination and brain-work. "Now imagine one the size of Alduin."

I elbowed him in the ribs after the image became too real. "Alright, stop screwing with my mind. We're here."

"Will you require aide, brother?" Paarthurnax asked, being the considerate older brother from another mother and/or father that he was.

I waved him off. "Nah, just cover our escape route. You too, Dovakodaav. Just land us on their roof, we can make a hole and drop down or something." I turned to Miraak. "Ulfric is a wily bastard. I bet he already knows we're coming… Looks like we're doing it the fun way."

Miraak never batted an eye (not that I could see, since he was still wearing that eldritch mask of his). Instead, he continued to talk about those Akatosh-damned cats. "And you know what they call a… a… a… Half Gallon on Ice in Senchal?"

"What? They don't call it a Half Gallon on Ice in kitty beach resort?" I grumbled as I steadied myself for the jump.

"No, they use the Thalmor system." Miraak probably rolled his eyes at me, but again, I couldn't see it through his ugly tentacle mask. "They don't know what in Akatosh's name a half gallon is."

I sighed, realizing I was being riled in again. "Then what do they call it? It's just ale on ice."

Miraak jumped off of Dovahkodaav with the grace of a bear, making a dull thud that might as well have echoed through all of Windhelm. "They call it an Elsweyr Royale."

"Huh." I blinked and stopped. Rather than readying myself for the blast, I turned back to him again. "Then what do they call wine?"

"Wine is wine, boy. Maybe they call it kitty tonic, but it's just grape juice with a kick."

"So what do they call Blackbriar Mead?"

"I don't know." Miraak pushed me aside to make us a door. "I don't drink that swill. **FUS… RO DAH!**"

As the roof of the great hall collapsed, I peered in and smiled what might not have been a nice smile. "HERE'S DOVAHKIIN!"


End file.
